


Gogo: Reflect

by leijonara



Category: Big Hero 6
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leijonara/pseuds/leijonara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Gogo Tomago and you aren't sure if falling in love with Tadashi Hamada was more fun than having him.</p>
<p>Reflect on this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gogo: Reflect

**Author's Note:**

> heyo, this is my first actual fic on this site, although for more big hero 6 fanfics from me (older stuff, mostly gogosabi or tomadashi) go to ask-gogo-tomago.tumblr.com!
> 
> I did write this in a rush and might go back to add more to the end, make it better, but that's a pretty big maybe so don't cross your fingers.

Your name is Gogo Tomago and you think you're in love.

The day you first meet Tadashi Hamada is also your first day at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology. It's Orientation week and although you're not staying in a dorm (you're not allowed to as part of your strict contract allowing you out of jail) you're spending almost all your time in them, doing parties and activities. It's Superhero Day first up, and as you get into your Wonder Woman outfit you grin at your reflection in the mirror. You don't have her hair; yours is short and straight so you simply curl the ends and shrug before brushing on makeup just a bit bolder than your usual look.

The few years spent in prison have worn away at your makeup skills, what with not caring enough to try and buy any from the shop (even though you've earned enough money in the prison mechanic shop, wowing fellow inmates and guards alike with your deft fingers and sharp mind. You're grateful they decided you were good enough to be given a second chance at life, even if your social skills are slightly stunted by your time inside.) Your hands dab on lipstick and eyeliner of seemingly their own accord. Muscle memory truly is a beautiful thing.

When you decide you're ready to go out you clip your whip into the buckle on your waist and step outside, glad it's a warm night. Your usual bike, a fixie, won't do. There's no way in hell you're pedaling the damn thing halfway across town wearing a leotard, so instead you pull the tarp off of your Harley and rev up the engine as much as you can with a clean conscience. It's music to your ears, the purring of the engine, and you speed out into the night wearing your costume and a wicked grin.

When you arrive at SFIT, your eyes widen. It's lit up with all kinds of lighting, from fairy to strobe, and pulsing with music and students to be. You park your bike and leap into the fray, planning on acting up to your costume. Tonight, instead of drinking like you want to, you'll be the savior of every drunk boy or girl who can't fend for themselves. You take up station by one of the many tables laden with drinks, where the least sober ones drag themselves. On the cheap plastic tablecloth, decorated with the Batman insignia, rests a bottle- still unopened, much to your astonishment- of vodka, some higher end brand. You shrug and allow yourself a single shot glass, enjoying the burn and subsequent buzz as you scan the crowd.

Huh. There's a boy by the other end of the table, looking rather disorientated, which is something you cannot abide by on O Week. Furthermore, there's someone of dubious gender- you don't even recognise the costume, it's simply a black cloak from shoulder to ankle and a simple black mask- and they're being rather friendly. And considering that the boy (who you're dubbing Flabby Flash, not because he's fat but because his Flash costume is so ill fitting it honestly gives him the appearance of fat rolls) doesn't look happy in return, you decide to intervene.

However, the moment you take a step towards the two, a man in a Captain America outfit (which is extremely well fitted, it looks professionally tailored to him) appears between them and says something. He's wearing the full outfit, headgear and all, and you're a little disappointed because _that jawline_. He laughs and kind of sandwiches himself further between them. It looks absurdly obvious what he's doing, but Black Cloak is seemingly buying it and after a moment nods and turns away, melting into the crowd. The Captain taps his damsel on the shoulder and after getting what appears to be a mumbled slur in response, frowns deeply. He glances around and then sighs, taking Flabby Flash by the shoulders and steering him away from the crowd.

You scowl and follow, slipping past people and occasionally shoving them out of the way for the hell of it. He seemed to have good intentions but perhaps is another creep? Either way, you can be of assistance. You eventually catch up to them at one of the tables at the fringe of the party, with only a couple of people around it. This one has food and water. You allow a small smile, relieved, and hurry up the the pair.  
Captain turns to you and grins, extending a hand.  
"Hi! I'm Tadashi." You hesitate only a moment before shaking it. His handshake is how you always imagined Steve Roger's to be- firm and polite. You're beginning to like him already, enough to give him your name.  
"Leiko." He nods to himself and then grabs a cup of water from the table, handing it to Flabby Flash. The boy takes it with trembling hands. You wonder if he's going to drop it before he gets in a single drop.

Tadashi, to his credit, only does a single take of your outfit. You know you've been looking him up and down a few times. He smiles at FF, eyes crinkling a bit in the corners.  
"Well, Leiko, this is James. He was telling me he's never had a drink before this!" And then he laughs, and it's not mocking in the slightest, but more a hearty amusement. You begin to suspect that he's the type to laugh when happy. It's not sharp like yours, or raucous like your acquaintance Honey's, but soft and sweet. You want to hear it again.

Instead of vocalizing any of this, you arch a single, slim brow and let your gaze flit over James. He's pretty red in the face, and certainly doesn't look like any kind of drinker.  
"Hey, uh," you begin, pausing to collect your thoughts, "thanks for intervening back there." Tadashi shrugs and leans against the table, an easy smile on his face.  
"Well I saw you standing by the drinks like some kind of vigilante with fire in her eyes. Decided to follow the example."  
"It's not fire, it's Russian vodka," you reply with a small smile of your own. He laughs again and it lifts your heart a little, and even James giggles.   
"They say the same thing about courage, you know," says Tadashi. You roll your eyes. If he's trying to compliment you he's either very smooth or very oblivious.

You shrug loosely. "I won't deny it. Though my courage has always tasted a bit more like Tia Maria, can't fathom why."   
"Never had Tia Maria." You stare at him (glad for the excuse to).  
"There are three good tasting kinds of alcohol in the world. There are cocktails, any kind of flavored vodka and there's Tia Maria. Tastes like coffee, good with ice cream. If you have the funds, I suggest it sometime. And it's good to get over breakups."  
"Aw, now I'm sad that you know that."  
"Don't be, I get over dumping people pretty fast."  
"O-Oh." His voice stumbles; clearly he'd thought you were the one left behind. As if. You're never left behind- in fact, most people simply cannot keep up. "You dump all the boys you date, then?" Tadashi's voice is teasing again now. You lean in a little closer and whisper, "sometimes I dump the girls too."

His face goes bright red but he laughs anyway, tipping his head back and pressing a hand to his stomach. "I like you, Leiko, you're funny." Pride wells in your chest, because although you get the feeling he laughs at almost everything, he doesn't seem the type to lie. Honest, that one. He reaches up and tugs off the mask and.

Oh.

Oh no.

Tadashi is _hot_. And you feel a faint flush creeping up your neck when you take in his hair, tousled from being under the cap, and his facial structure and cheekbones and eyes and everything else there possibly is to look at. He grins at you, almost bashfully, and motions for your arm. You stretch it out, almost breathless with a strange kind of hope, and can't bite back your smile when he pulls a sharpie from his breast pocket and scribbles a phone number. His handwriting is neat and kind of slanted, and you don't know why you notice.

Then he says, "I have to get home to my brother, but I'd like to talk to you again sometime so call me, okay?" and it's all you can do to nod as he throws you a lazy salute and disappears into the shadows. James giggles- god, you'd forgotten he was even here- and winks at you. The redness on his cheeks is fading and you decide he's sober enough to leave after making him promise just to drink water, and lots of it.

You wander through the crowd, sipping at a red cup of piss beer and occasionally posing for photos. Every now and then you catch a glimpse of a star spangled costume, but it's never him, and you're cross with yourself for wishing. He's cute, sure, and funny, but you barely know him. After a while you just grow sick of being let down for no reason and leave the festivities with a huff and reddened cheeks.

A few days later, you call Tadashi and he answers on the first ring. At first, conversation is slightly awkward and mostly focused on James, shallow comments about his sobriety and how Tadashi had seen him the next day in the quad, dragged along by a friend who'd apparently had the foresight to hydrate themselves properly the night before. He'd been nursing an ice pack and a pair of shades and you actually slip a laugh when Tadashi describes the deadness in his walk.

After a while, the conversation wanders to other things, like your life and his, and you resolutely steer clear of your past in jail. A couple times you have to change the subject abruptly and although you can tell he knows something's up, he leaves well enough alone and respects your privacy. He talks about his brother a lot and you learn he lives and works in his aunt's cafe, only a couple blocks from the Institute. He likes hot chocolate and drinks endless mochas, and is in charge of baking the more delicate pastries like the cinnamon rolls and tarts, because according to his aunt he has a level of patience far surpassing her own and can always time them in the oven just right. You find out he rides a moped and you grimace, wondering if he'd let you soup it up a bit. 

Eventually you begin to let slip small details about yourself- your affinity for gum, though you can't pick a favourite brand (he suggests Fatty Jo's), that you never take public transport unless you have company because of how slow it is, that you have a secret love of hair clips but wouldn't be caught dead wearing anything but the plainest. You have K Pop posters on your walls. When you mention that you like the band Arctic Monkeys he laughs and you revel in it, even though he calls you a hipster. You protest and say you just like the guitar and beat- you like fast paced music, with a strong beat and stronger vocals. Nicki Minaj is your queen, you tell him and he bashfully admits he likes her song Anaconda since his little brother played it all the time.

His brother, who you learn goes by Hiro, becomes the main topic of conversation. You think you might know as much about Hiro as you do Tadashi, and you think you like him. He's apparently a huge trickster, pranking his elder brother constantly and worrying him by going out late at night. It occurs to you that you shouldn't really be worried- after all, you lived on the streets, in a gang, since you were young- and then you realise that oh damn, the streets are no place for anyone who cannot handle a knife. You tell him you could probably teach his little brother a thing or two about how to take care of himself out there, and when Tadashi protests you butt in, reminding him that you can't stop Hiro, just guide him and prepare him. His reply is some dubious muttering amid the crackle of static you get sometimes, on such a crappy phone line as you have. Whatever. You can work on him later.

The call ends when you're interrupted by a yelling in the background of "Tadashi, you've been talking to that girl for three hours! Go to bed already, I can't sleep!" and then the reply of "Hiro, you just want me to go to bed so you can sneak out and go bot fighting!" Then he mumbles an apology and bids you goodnight, and quickly you blurt out,  
"Tadashi- as much fun as this was, I ain't got funds for long phone conversations. What cafe are you at?"  
"The Lucky Cat Cafe, it's only a short walk from the Institute. Google it."  
"Okay. I'll be over tomorrow, around lunch. Gotta scope out the best places to eat before the semester starts, you know."  
"Of course. Good night, Leiko."  
"Night, Tadashi."  
The click as the phone hangs up leaves you feeling emptier than you'd anticipated.

The next morning you wake up, slumped at your desk with a crick in your neck and the kind of bleary feeling that you've long since learnt comes when you didn't drink enough water the night before. You force yourself to stand and gulp down a glass or two, along with a painkiller. Just in case. More often than not you get a headache after waking up like that. Why take the chance? You sigh and trudge into the shower.

You emerge bursting with energy and smelling like wild jasmine and apples, which is your favourite scent, and grab a granola bar for breakfast. Then you hurry into your room and frown at your wardrobe.  
It's kind of.... empty. It dawns on you that he has in fact seen you wearing pretty much nothing but a leotard, but still! You huff and scowl and whine for about half before pulling out a pair of denim shorts and a crop top, black with red racing stripes. You have a pair of pants to match it, but that would only ever be appropriate to wear together if you were actually exercising. 

You brush your hair quickly and pop in a hair clip (purple with a little plastic crescent moon stuck on) and hope he'll mention it. Then it's the usual makeup and you're out the door, on your beloved fixed gear bike and away, into the bustle of San Fransokyo. 

When you spot the cafe, your eyes immediately find the silhouette of Tadashi inside. A small grin works its way onto your cheeks. You pull up and quickly lock your bike to a pole- it's far too expensive not to. The door opens for you and you're met by a quick hug, and Tadashi breaks into peals of laughter when he pulls away. "Hi, Leiko," he chirps.  
"Hey. Nice apron." He looks down at the pink apron, decorated with the logo of the Lucky Cat Cafe, and smiles bashfully.   
"Thanks," he replies sardonically. You roll your eyes and he escorts you up to a seat at the bar, which is almost deserted. Most customers are sitting at the tables with friends, family, coworkers. He darts away and drops a menu in front of you and you thank him, not impolitely. Then he winks and hurries off to get the order of a family a few tables away. You sigh and open up the menu.   
It's done in a very cutesy, bubbly style, with lots of cat drawings everywhere, and even a few cat puns incorporated into the names of food and drinks. It's actually quite adorable. You let your gaze flick absentmindedly over the words- once or twice wandering over to the boy who's currently offering a small child a napkin- and eventually settle for a steak purrger and kale salad. Ha ha ha. It's your favourite meal, and one of the few things on the menu that's not ultra sweet. If this place can do good steak and salad, you're sold on becoming a regular. Especially if Tadashi always works the lunch shift.

Speak of the devil. He appears behind you, all earnest smile and warm eyes, and you brusquely snap out your order (and then tack on a "Captain" to make sure he knows you aren't being rude). He's easygoing, you've known that since the first moment, and you're going to have to figure out exactly how much. He grins and nods, not even jotting down your order. You barely have time to add, "and a coffee too-" before he's gone. You don't even know if he heard you. Oh well, if he tries to give you something like what he drinks, you're going to tip it out, simply because sugar is honestly gross. You like your coffee short and black, a burst of energy that lasts you the whole day before you need another hit. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish about in the pocket for a moment, retrieving the Nokia. You've got a text- from an acquaintance. Fred. You met him at the Superhero Day party after he asked for a photo and then didn't shut up for about ten minutes, after which time you rolled your eyes and told the boy in the Godzilla suit that he could just text you later, you had shit to do. Now he texts you every day, and have fallen into a kind of I insult you, you insult me relationship. He can't believe you think Godzilla isn't a hero, and you can't believe he owns a suit of every Godzilla from the original movie to the 2014 one. 

He's saying something about a little private party he's having, in a back room at one of the many clubs in SF. He's promising free drinks and food, and the company of his friends. That last part sounds a bit iffy, but you know a couple of them and they seem pretty nice, so it's not like you'll be sitting alone in a corner.   
_[text] fred, can u promise pringles???  
[text] I mean like five cans, that shit gets eaten quick and I want some for myself_  
It'll be another few minutes before he replies, or even notices the alert on his phone over his video game or movie or tv show or whatever he's doing. You quickly fish a pen from your messenger bag and scribble a shitty drawing of a dress onto your arm, as a reminder to pick out an outfit for the party. 

"You always seemed like the artist type, you know."  
"And you always seemed like a goddamned comedian. Hello, Tadashi," you mutter dryly as he laughs and circles around you to set down a plate and bowl, one containing a burger with a cat face drawn on the bun in sauce and the other containing kale salad. "I like the drawing. Very.... uh, what's that word for when it's saying a lot with not much?"  
"Minimalistic," he answers without missing a beat. "I'll grab your coffe." You're left staring after him. Obviously if he attends SFIT he's smart. That much you know. But he's witty, too, and knows more than just numbers like a lot of people you'll be meeting during your time in the Institute. You grin. He'll be good to have as a friend, once you train him not to get you coffees that are more sugar than grounds..... oh.

The coffee he places before you with a beaming smile is barely more than foam and liquid in a shot glass. It's got to be the best you've seen since that one speciality coffee place and when you glance up at Tadashi, he offers up a small shrug.  
"You seem like the sort of person to drink that." You return his smile for a fleeting moment and then delicately pick up the glass, raising it to your lips to sip tentatively. It's- bitter. It is so goddamn bitter in the best way possible and you love it and hate it all at once. After all, nobody truly enjoys a taste like that. It's like alcohol, only drunk for the effects, except healthy. 

That day, as you and Tadashi chat over your meal, and his when he makes it, you learn something about him that you couldn't over the phone. The way he reacts to his surroundings.... you caught a glimpse of it when you first met. He's seemingly oblivious, kind of an idiot, a little nerdy, generally well meaning, but not much in his head aside from numbers. What you realise, though, is that he is exceptionally perceptive. He can read faces and tones and you can almost see him analyzing every bit of info he gets to reshape his mental image of you. With anyone else it would perhaps be nerve racking, but rather you find it simply means you can keep your sentences short and to the point, letting your body language convey anything unsaid.  
In return, he's completely open. He makes wild arm gestures whenever he gets particularly excited, but never any other time, and speaks warmly. His smile is in his tone and his eyes and it warms you. 

You come back a second time, and a third and fourth and fifth and then you lose count and don't much care. Tadashi's company is something you come to treasure, and sometimes you'll be talking and he might let slip an idle comment that sounds like it was born with the universe and should be taught to schoolchildren worldwide, and you feel as though you have stumbled upon something very special. Then, a moment later, he's back to laughing about a cat meme his aunt forwarded to him and you're wondering if you imagined it.  
You say little, but more than you usually would. He works hard to glean information from you and you reward him with half a story, the rest to be discovered later. It's a game that the two of you play and you rather enjoy it. 

A year passes; you and Tadashi and Fred and Aiko and Sabi all become close friends, through obscure mutual acquaintances and chance meetings. You begin work on your project for your second year, a bike using electromagnetic suspension. It's difficult work, and you're starting to realise that for your bike to be as efficient as it can be, you'll need to do away with the chain. That on its own will be a huge obstacle and you're starting to acquaint yourself with the idea of an internal mechanism to replicate gears. That's going to need electricity, though, so unless you get highly efficient solar panels you're going to have some issues.

It's because of your intense focus on your project, a time of your life marked by late nights and hundreds of test runs, all highly dangerous and perhaps a little over the speed limit, that Fred christens you Gogo Tomago. You narrow your eyes after reading the text he sends you in class- _you went pretty fast today, gogo tomago!_  
It's followed up by another explaining that "tomago" is Korean for circle and you don't have the heart to tell him that it's Japanese, not Korean, it's "tamago" not "tomago" and it means egg. He tried and that, you tell yourself with a little snort, is what matters.

Weeks after that, you're eating lunch with Tadashi, Sabi and Fred- Aiko is at some super fancy restaurant that incorporates science with cooking. You remember it's called the Fat Duck and it's run by some bald man named Heston Bloomentos. Menthol? Whatever. You don't really care; food is meant to be eaten and not played with. And the lunch you're sharing with your friends is simply divine. You're all at the sushi bar Sabi is working at. He's not on shift, luckily, he does night shifts because the management want their muscle out when the drunks come in. You're eating a beef roll and salmon onigiri, Sabi has something with a name you couldn't begin to try and pronounce, Fred has a California roll (he's not all that adventurous in the world of raw fish) and Tadashi is picking unsurely at a flying fish roe ship. You lean over and stick a chopstick into the little orange eggs, coating it in them, then pop it in your mouth and crunch them up. He looks at you, eyes narrowed and a reluctant smile twitching at his lips.   
"If you wanted the neon eggs, you should have gotten them yourself."  
"No," you reply haughtily, "because they have a gross aftertaste and too many is only going to make that worse." You're rewarded with a chuckle and head shake from Tadashi and a long suffering sigh from Sabi.

The burly man reaches out with his chopsticks for some Sabi as he says, "Gogo, it's really not sanitary- or polite- just to take from his plate like that." The chiding tone of his voice, laced with the humor that means he gets that Tadashi doesn't mind, makes you want to poke your tongue out and flick something at him. Instead you just look out the window, peering as if what you've seen is absurdly obscure, and when Sabi's gaze is naturally drawn to follow yours you lean over, quick as lightning, and flick the wasabi from his chopsticks to his grey sweater.  
He notices a moment later, eyes stretching wide with horror at the green blob staining his top. Tadashi swallows laughter- you can see it in his eyes and in the little half-dimple he only gets when he's trying not to smile, and only on his left side- and Fred barks out a loud laugh.  
"Nice one, _Wasabi_!" he crows, cackling to himself. You allow a little smile to touch your own lips as the newly christened Wasabi jumps up and bolts to the restroom, looking for all the world like he has an awful case of the runs.   
You, Tadashi and Fred share a righteous three way fist bump and the same smug expression until your friend returns.

It goes on like this, the five of you- oftentimes nicknamed "the furious five" or "the nerd squad"- simply reveling in each other's friendship and enjoying your uni work. Tadashi begins a massive project, something ostentatious and far more work than what can be plausibly done, and you all cackle like crows when he appears every day with bags under his eyes and a coffee cup in hand.  
As funny as it is, you find yourself worrying. Tadashi has always been sure of himself, a steadfast confidence that the others can barely understand (you get it, though, you've always gotten it) but as stressed and tired as he is, and with nothing but a chorus of "told you this would happen" from his friends, you know doubts have starting slipping in.  
You raise your issues one day, eyes scarcely more than glinting slits of anger and lips set in a hard line. The moment you step into the lab, his desk chair swivels to face you. He groans, unable even to keep his eyes on you, they droop so much with tiredness.  
"Tell me you have coffee."   
"Nope. Get up." There's a tilt of the head and he shoots you this- this look. And not a moment later you've snatched him up by the arm and have him pinned to the wall. It's not something you'd usually do, since you're too small to threaten someone in that way, but you know the display of anger will have caught his attention. It does, and he's staring down at you wide eyed. Your hand remains fisted in his shirt. You snap,  
"Listen here, Tadashi. You're a genius, okay, but you're also a fucking moron. Woman up and prioritise your work. You can do this, but not if you keep digging your sorry ass into this rut of sleep deprivation and coffee. You're doing half as much work in twice as much time and the quality is godawful. So get the hell out of this office, take a fucking break at home and then come back fresh. It's gross to watch you mope around."

By the time you're finished, there's an angry glow to your eyes and venom in your tone. Your grip on his collar relaxes, slightly, and he just stares at you with bewilderment and something untraceable in his eyes.  
You're about to snap something rude at him when from nowhere at all, he leans down and presses a firm kiss to your lips. It's not very romantic, but it sure as hell isn't bad, and you don't have any strange rush of emotion except for the lingering feeling that the asshole is trying to change the subject. Whatever. You kiss him back regardless, hands tight once again in the fabric of his shirt, and his own creeping up to ghost at your waist until you give your bum a bit of a wriggle and he sets them down firmly.

It only lasts a few seconds before you pull away. You weren't prepared, didn't suck in a breath. And as calm as you are about this, there was a bit of shock.   
Tadashi is watching you again, and he looks alert now, half amused curve to his lips and eyes bright.  
"I've been wanting to do that for a while," he chirps happily and you choke down a laugh, resting your head on his chest with a thud.  
"You're an idiot. Go home, Tadashi, I'll call you tonight."  
"You're sexy when you're mad," he sniggers and to shut his ass up, you pull him down into another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> and there we have it.


End file.
